As he walked away, his heart heavy, he knew that his love for Lacey would never stop. While he knew he was about to embark on a new journey, he also knew that his heart would forever stay hostage to Lacey Martin.

And there was no other place he’d rather leave it.

Every time Karson King stepped foot in Chicago, he felt like he was suffocating.

Or maybe it was the fact that Coach Baxter had lost his ever-loving mind before practice that morning. Karson wasn’t sure which one it was, but it was plain as day that he was struggling to keep up with the drills that Baxter was running. It wasn’t his morning. Ever since the plane touched down in Chicago, he knew that this wasn’t going to be a good trip. He was the one who always thought they would win. Hands down. The Nashville Assassins were the best damn team in the league, in his opinion. He’d scream it from the rooftop, but every single damn time they set foot into Chicago, he sang a different tune.

There was something, or better yet, someone in this damn city who mentally fucked him every time he visited. It didn’t matter. He could come for a quick visit, and something would go wrong. Like when he came for his buddy Drew’s wedding. It rained. Some say that is good luck, but it was an outdoor wedding. Karson was soaked to his underwear, and poor Elizabeth, the bride, looked like a drowned cat.

It was sad.

When he came for the alumni game for his alma mater so that he could drop the puck during a play-off game, he slipped on the fucking ice.

What the fuck?

He was a hockey player. He lived, breathed, and loved the ice and somehow slipped. Off a piece of carpet nonetheless. In front of thousands of people. Pathetic.

And for the love of God, when he played against the Blackhawks, might as well not even watch him; he was tragic. Playing like a pee-wee player, missing shots, missing blocks, basically looking like a fish out of water… He was downright ridiculous.

It was this damn city. That’s all there was to it.

Digging into the ice, he took long strides to catch up to his line that was crashing the net, hoping for some kind of rebound to score. But it was hard to score on Tate Odder. Like the ninja goalie he was, he batted every shot away. When the puck came in front of Karson, he went to shoot, but somehow forgot to connect the blade of his stick to the puck.

Like a dumbass.

When Jakob Titov took the puck and sailed it up to whoever was waiting for it, Karson let his head hang and let out a long breath.

“What the fuck, King! Get it together,” Coach Baxter yelled.

He hated this damn city.

After showering and basically licking his wounds after Coach ripped him one, Karson took a long nap, or better yet, tossed and turned in bed before heading out into the brisk, cold Chicago air. Looking around, he let out a long breath before letting his shoulders drop. Looking up at the tall buildings, the busy street goers, the basic splendor of Chicago, Karson couldn’t muster up anything but disdain for this city. It was supposed to be his second home. After coming here twelve years ago from Wisconsin, Karson knew he had been about to embark on the journey of a lifetime. He was going to train with the best college coach ever, Nate Martin. He was just that too—on the ice, that is. Off the ice, he could kiss both of Karson’s ass cheeks, but he didn’t like to think too much about that. It brought back too many painful memories. It made him think of how, for the last nine years, he hadn’t been living, not in the least.

It was sad, really. Chicago had been good to him before he left for the draft. He’d had lots of fun here, he made longtime friends, he played some of his favorite hockey here, and he also fell in love for the first time here.

The only time.

But now, he walked the street with nothing but a bad taste in his mouth. He hated it here. If he were honest, it wasn’t the city itself, but the person who he knew still lived here that made this city somewhat of a bad omen to him now.

Bundling up tighter in his jacket, he trudged through the cold with his buddy, Jordie Thomas. They were meeting up with some of their teammates for dinner before hitting the town. Karson’s hands shook in his pockets with the thoughts of running into the girl he left behind, but he knew he wouldn’t see her. He never did. Not in the forty-nine times he had been back to Chicago had he seen her gorgeous face, and man, he wished he had. Instead, he had to watch her from afar. On the Internet, stalking her on Facebook, and hearing things through the few mutual friends they had. It was insane, really. When he thought of Chicago, he thought of her. When he was in town, he prayed for some reason he would run into her, which would have him thinking of her the whole time he was here. She flooded his senses, his thoughts, his soul.

She was the one he let go.

And how idiotic that was.

Because there was something about Lacey Martin’s smile that could honestly knock him on his ass, before her eyes would pick him back up and her lips would demolish him. He then would pray that all of it would happen again and again because he loved her. More than anything in existence. She was the “bring home to Ma” kind of girl. She was perfect, beautiful, and stunning. When they were together for those three glorious months, he cherished her like the Stanley Cup. Yeah, it was short, but it was perfect. She was it to him. She was everything.

They had a plan. They were supposed to be together forever, but like all good things, they came to an end. A horrible, painful end. One he hadn’t come back from. There wasn’t a day that passed where he didn’t think of her, wonder where she was and what she was doing.

He doubted she did the same, though.